


Games We Play in Shadows

by naughty_sock



Category: Original Work
Genre: Consent Issues, F/M, Historical Fantasy, Mind Games, Older Man/Younger Woman, Poison, Public Sex, Punishment, Treachery, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 16:26:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17005086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naughty_sock/pseuds/naughty_sock
Summary: It had been a simple plan. Assassinate the queen and take over the kingdom. Too bad, Kallum underestimated his enemy.





	Games We Play in Shadows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AceQueenKing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/gifts).



He'd chosen a slow acting poison.

Kallum had given ten years of his life currying favors, brokering deals in back rooms of shady taverns and behind closed doors within the castle. He'd assassinated anyone who stood in his way – all to rise within the hierarchy of politics and court intrigues to become the kings confidant, the queen's lover, and the voice that whispered in both their ears, guiding alliances, war councils, and trade negotiations. Within a decade, he'd gone from being the insignificant fifth son of an impoverished baron, to being one of the richest and most powerful man in the kingdom.

And then a storm had ruined his plans.

The ship baring the royal family had been dashed against the reefs, and Cerise, the King' twenty-year-old daughter, and her infant brother had been the only survivors.

Back in the castle, the court had mourned the king and queen's passing for all of two seconds, before the game of political intrigue had taken on an almost frenzied pitch.

By rights, the crown should have passed to the young prince, but perhaps the king had not been as oblivious to his wife's indiscretions as he'd claimed, for he had left an edict with the High Priest that amended the line of succession to include their daughter.

Where a child as young as the prince could have easily been molded into a figurehead who'd rely on Kallum even more than his parents had, Cerise was a different challenge altogether.

She was a head-strong young woman, who didn't like him, and whether by design or incompetence, she didn't try to hide her animosity.

It had only been a matter of time before the courtiers had picked up on it.

Now, whispers followed him wherever he went, and rumors were spreading that his days as the most powerful man behind the throne were coming to an end – namely, the minute the crown touched Cerise's head. And even though the gossips weren't quite foolish enough to gloat openly about it, their gleefulness was ill-disguised.

Which was the reason Cerise had to die.

She'd made it clear that she wasn't susceptible to his charms, had no use for his advice, and even had the audacity to send him away on the rare occasion she deigned to meet with the generals and ambassadors who clamored for her attention.

She was a vapid, naive, and obstinate little thing who preferred taking tea with the young ladies who angled for her favor, and who spent her days riding around the country side, instead of attending to matters of state.

Her death would hardly be a loss.

Though first, he was going to take his time watching her die.

Of course, the coronation was a grand affair. Aristocrats and ambassadors had arrived all month from the farthest reaches of the continent to meet the new queen and bear witness to her ascension. They'd also come to renegotiate trade agreements, propose new alliances, and ask for her hand in marriage, but none of that mattered. By the time the sun rose tomorrow, the new queen would be dead, and everything would be back to the way it should be, with Kallum holding the stewardship of the throne, until Cerise's brother came of age.

In light of this certainty, Kallum allowed himself to indulge in the festivities. He picked up a goblet of dark, red wine from a passing servant and walked around the edge of the crowded ballroom. Courtiers and foreign dignitaries where dancing and laughing, their faces red and glowing with various stages of inebriation. At the long tables that had been set up on the three sides of the room that were not occupied by the royal family and their closest allies, political talk flowed in a more somber mood, though occasional critiques of the queen's lavish coronation dress surfaced here and there.

Kallum hid his smile behind the rim of his cup. The dress had been a stroke of genius on his part.

The country was poor. Years of mismanagement, greed, and callousness and wrung the population dry until they had barely enough on which to live. Cerise's parents had cared little for the merchants and peasants under their care, and Kallum had encouraged them at every turn, always eager to line his own pockets. Resentment was running high, but he'd always made sure that it was quelled by a strong, well-fed army. (A military position was the only occupation these days that allowed impoverished nobles of lower rank to earn a living, and the ranks were swelling with young men eager to make their mark – to ride into war and come back bearing glory and riches.)

If the young queen were to establish her rule, she would have to be as ruthless and decisive as he had encouraged her parents to be. Showing off her wealth and how little she cared for her starving subjects was sure to not only feed the festering resentment among the very people who put food on her table, but would also turn most of the more politically astute nobles against her, for fear that an uprising would threaten their own wealth or even their lives.

It would also ensure their indifference when her handmaidens found her dead in the morning.

With this in mind, Kallum had personally overseen the design of her coronation dress – a lavish affair of lace and brocade, the bodice studded with jewels, and the fifty-foot veil that had trailed behind her as she'd ascended the steps of the temple glittering with gold leaf ornaments.

She'd taken off the veil, now that she was attending the feast, but the dress itself was no less breathtaking and ostentatious. White and red, it sparkled with gems and golden thread. A heavy gold necklace with intricate, triangular filigree wrought around a large center stone ruby adorned her slim neck.

Even Kallum had to admit that she looked beautiful with her dark hair piled artfully on top of her head and stray curls falling all the way down to her bare shoulders. The bodice clung to her every curve and turned her modest cleavage into a vision that had more than one man in the room salivating.

She would make such a pretty corpse in her hearse, with the crocodile tears of her subjects conveying her to her final resting place.

His gaze followed her as she rose to dance; it lingered on the light sway of her hips as she walked through the room, and bore into her when she stopped to accept congratulations and assurances of loyalty. He took in the glow on her cheeks and the twinkle in her deep, blue eyes, and without even noticing that he had approached her, he suddenly found himself standing in front of her.

Whenever Cerise looked at him, the corners of her small mouth turned down, and a sharp line appeared between her full, delicately curved eyebrows. It was an expression to which he'd resigned himself, and therefore it caught him by surprise when she suddenly regarded him with a welcoming smile.

"Lord Kallum, I have not seen you all day," she addressed him amicably. "I was beginning to think that you had fled the country."

"Why would I do such a thing on this auspicious day, Your Majesty?"

She tilted her head to the side. "I thought the rumors might have gotten to you."

A cold wave of outrage surged through him, and it was only years of practice that kept his expression neutral. "And what rumors might those be?" he asked carefully.

She laughed. "Oh, come now, Kallum. Do not play coy. Half the courtiers are betting whether or not I will have you executed after the coronation, or if I would rather let you starve to death in the dungeons."

"And which of these option shall be my fate, Your Majesty?" He made sure that his voice carried a playful note, but his mouth was dry nonetheless. If she had him shackled before he could administer the poison to her drink–

To think that victory could still be snatched from his grasp was galling. He'd known about the bets, of course, though it rather surprised him that Cerise had heard about them as well. As far as he knew, she paid little attention to anything that wasn't a horse, a sparkling gown, or the tittle-tattle of her new friends.

The sniveling curs who couldn't wait to be rid of him must have been very confident in his impending demise to be so careless with their discretion.

Her thoughts must have run along the same lines, for she leaned in close enough for him to catch the scent of her perfume. It smelled of wildflowers and pine trees – a pleasant scent that was disconcertingly distracting.

"None, of course. Kallum, you have served my parents well. I'm sorry that my grief over their loss has unduly influenced our relationship." She looked up at him from beneath her long lashes. “They used to spend so much time with you, that it feels to me as if all of you are inseparably linked in my mind. Seeing you every day, while knowing that I will never be able to see my parents again... well, it's difficult," she said haltingly.

He looked down at her with an understanding smile that hid the disdain in his eyes. What a silly, sentimental girl. "There is no need to apologize, Your Majesty. Losing your parents while you are still so young and untested – not to mention the strain of taking on such a monumental task as ruling their kingdom – must weigh greatly on your mind."

She lowered her gaze demurely, which was somewhat uncharacteristic of her, but perhaps she was not completely beyond humility.

"It does," she said quietly. She placed a hand on his arm, and Kallum had to resist the urge to recoil. Her touch was too soft and too warm, and it left Kallum with a prickling sensation that rushed from his arm all the way down to his groin. Disgusted with his own reaction, he gritted his teeth as she continued.

"Please, rest assured that I do not wish you any harm. You have been a most loyal and trusted adviser to my parents, and it is my wish that, in time, we might come to have a similar relationship."

Kallum dutifully inclined his head. "My only desire is to serve you, and serve you well," he replied, the lies flowing easily from his tongue.

Cerise gave him a brilliant smile. "I am so glad to hear it. I believe I have stayed long enough to make my excuses. Tomorrow will be a long day of meetings and trade negotiations. Would you join me for a nightcap? I would love to hear your thoughts on the ambassadors' proposals."

Kallum could hardly believe his luck. In the few weeks since her parents' demise, he had closely monitored the queen's habits. It was well known to him that she had a glass of milk with bourbon every evening before she went to bed. He had planned to intercept the milk on the way from the kitchen and slip the poison inside, but this was even better.

"It would be my honor, Your Majesty," he quickly agreed.

 

* * *

 

"I don't want any milk tonight," she told him after they entered her chambers. "I'll just have the bourbon straight."

"As you wish, Your Majesty."

"Please, call me Cerise when we're in private."

His fingers stalled on the neck of the decanter. "If it pleases you... Cerise," he replied after a moment. "You are, of curse, welcome to call me Kallum."

She threw a quick smile over her shoulder before she leaned against one of the slender sandstone columns that framed the many windows of the room. He had to admit that she made a pretty picture with the wind tossed sea and starlit sky framing her, with the gentle glow of the full moon sparkling off the diamonds in her dress and casting the scene in alluring shadows.

A fire flickered beneath the mantlepiece and various candles gave the room a warm and almost sensual atmosphere. Thick rugs covered the stone floor, and a pair of deep armchairs, plush and richly embroidered, was situated in front of the fire adding to the impression of comfort.

Kallum tore his gaze away from the young queen and pulled the stopper out of the decanter. Keeping his back to her, he filled two cups and flipped up the top of his signet ring. With a turn of his wrist, he emptied the secret compartment and watched as the white powder dissolved in the dark liquid.

He permitted himself a small smile.

"Do you miss them?"

Cerise's voice starlet him, but he recovered quickly.

"It seemed to me that you were more than just their adviser. I believe they considered you a friend, and I wondered–" she broke off and accepted the cup he proffered. "Well, I wondered, if I am mistaken in that assumption, or if..."

"I miss them," he interrupted her quickly. He took a sip of his drink. "They were very dear to me," he lied. Her mother had been a pleasant distraction on most nights, but neither she nor her husband had been clever enough match him in his scheming. They had been too ensnared by their own perceived superiority to suspect him of any misdeeds or lies. It had been almost too easy to take advantage of them.

Cerise gave him a tearful smile. Then she drank deeply from her cup.

Kallum's heart beat faster.

He watched her as she swallowed, his eyes lingering on the vulnerable dip of her throat. He had thought about slitting it with a knife once, but decided to go with the poison instead. He wanted to watch her when she succumbed to its effects, wanted to cherish every moment the life drained out of her body. Though it would take her hours to die, she should feel the first sinister effects of the herbal concoction soon enough.

Anticipation made his mouth run dry, and he quickly emptied his own cup.

Cerise watched him with a bemused smile. "Are you nervous?" she asked.

He quirked an eyebrow at her, feeling suddenly almost light-headed with excitement. "Do I have cause to be?"

She laughed quietly and raised her own cup to her lips again. "I don't know," she answered him at last. "I've never drunk undiluted bourbon before; it has a headier taste than I anticipated. I'm afraid, I'm a little light-headed," she said, and he all but crooned internally. She would be feeling more than just a little light-headed in a moment.

"You, on the other hand, tossed back the liquor as if it were plain water," she continued. "It made me wonder if you were perhaps in need of a little liquid courage."

Looking down at her, he felt disconcerted that he couldn't decipher the look on her lovely face. "Why would I require courage, Your Majesty?"

"It's Cerise," she said lowly and... was that a note of huskiness in her voice?

He shook his head. It felt oddly heavy on his shoulders. No, he must have been mistaken. The poison must be starting to affect her.

"I'm afraid I was not completely honest with you, Kallum," she continued as she placed her cup on the window sill. "In fact, I must confess to luring you here under false pretenses."

His jaw closed with a snap, and the empty cup fell from his suddenly limb grasp when Cerise slipped her arms around him and pressed herself flush against his body.

"Your– Your Majesty," he exclaimed in shock. Of all the ways he'd envisioned this night to go, Cerise trying to seduce him had never crossed his mind.

"Please, Kallum. Call me by my name."

He regarded her for a long moment that seemed to stretch into eternity.

Why not? he wondered. He'd fucked her mother after all, why should he not take the daughter as well?

Especially when she was throwing herself at him like this. The exertion would spread the poison more quickly through her blood stream, but to see the light die in her eyes while he took his pleasure from her would be a memory worth making. The idea of it sent a shiver of excitement down his spine, and his hands reached for her before he had finished the thought.

His mind feeling hazy, he dug his fingers into her hips and crushed his lips down onto hers.

She laughed into his mouth, but he didn't think to wonder why. Instead, he seized the opportunity to push his tongue past her lips and taste her. The sharp fragrance of the bourbon still lingered on her tongue.

The bourbon that he had laced with poison.

He froze and pulled back abruptly.

"What is it?" Cerise asked.

"It's nothing, Your Majesty. I–" Surely, it was unlikely that enough poison lingered in her mouth to affect him? Still, it was probably best not to take any chances, he thought with no small measure of regret.

"Forgive me, Cerise, but I am almost fifteen years your senior. As flattered as I am by your offer, it would be highly inappropriate to accept it. No matter how much I might want to," he hastily explained, while trying to walk the thin line between denying her without making her angry enough to remember those bets about his execution that had been bandied about.

He stepped away from her, but quickly had to brace himself against the column by the window, when a wave of dizziness overcame him.

To his surprise, Cerise did not seem offended. "Oh, my dear Kallum. Are you worried about the poison?"

He froze. It seemed as if even his heart stopped beating inside his chest. "Your– Your Majesty?" he whispered.

She trailed a hand across his cheek and leaned in to nip at his ear. He shivered at her touch. It was not a pleasant sensation.

"Don't worry. However much lingers on my tongue, it cannot compare to the amount you drank so eagerly a moment ago."

Kallum recoiled and stared at her in utter bewilderment. Though he had heard her words, his brain refused to make sense of them. "I don't understand."

Cerise laughed again. In the firelight of her chambers, it was a sound as melodious as it was chilling.

"Who gave you the poison with which you sought to kill me tonight? Was it the old woman down at the harbor? The people call her a witch, but she is just a poor old lady, who is well versed in herbal poisons and remedies. You have used her before to get rid of your predecessor, but her loyalty shifts with the tinkle of a coin, and my pockets are deeper than yours."

Kallum pressed his back against the wall when a tremor ran through his legs. He had trouble remaining upright. "You paid her."

"I made sure she informed me of your visits. I paid her to provide me with the same poison that she sold to you, and I laced the decanter of bourbon with it."

He stared at her aghast. "But you drank it, too."

"And why shouldn't I? After all, I already took the antidote while you were busy poisoning my cup." She pulled a small vial out of her cleavage and showed it to him. It was empty.

A wave of rage came over him, and he stumbled forward, shaking off the sluggishness that had beset him. "How dare you?" he shouted as he reached for her neck, but his voice stalled in his throat, the words coming out rough and low.

She sidestepped him easily and toppled him to the ground. "How dare _I_?" she hissed down at him, her pleasant mask finally crumbling to reveal the vengeful spirit underneath. "I could ask you the same thing, but I don't need to. I watched you for a long time, Kallum. I know exactly who you are and what you have done."

As he struggled to raised himself to all fours, she used her boot to flip him onto his back. He wheezed, struggling for breath – a struggle that was compounded by her weight settling on top of him. He tried to push her off, but his heart was hammering inside his chest, and his arms where shaking uncontrollably. It cost her hardly any strength to pin his hands above his head.

She had bested him.

The knowledge manifested slowly, much more slowly than the poison working its way through his blood, but in the end, he could not deny the truth. She had anticipated his every move, watched him, bidden her time – like a spider spinning her tangled web – and like a careless grasshopper, he had sprung right into her trap.

On the heels of this realization came the awareness that he was going to die. Perversely, it almost made him laugh. He'd been so sure of himself – planned the deed so carefully. But she had fooled him thoroughly. Horses and dresses. Jewels and courtiers. Oh, how she had played him.

Cerise looked down at him, her expression triumphant, and to his utter mortification, he felt his loins stir against the heat of her body.

Her eyes widened in astonishment when she felt his hardening erection, and then she threw her head back and laughed.

"Well, this is an interesting turn of events," she crooned. Leaning down, her smile took on a wolfish savagery. "Is this how you would like to leave this world? Buried inside me, indulging a last moment of ecstasy?"

He weakly struggled against her. He could not deny the effects of the poison, but it would take hours before he would succumb fully. It he could make it down to the harbor, he could pay the old woman for the antidote. There was still a chance. If he could get to the guards, tell them what Cerise had done to him... There was little love lost between them and their new sovereign. He'd made sure of that.

He struggled harder, putting all his energy into throwing her off him.

Cerise pushed him down, her hands clenching around his wrists as she rubbed her center against his cock. "Don't think that you can get away from me, Kallum. I can do with you whatever I want."

His breath came rapidly as he tried to fight down his panic. To think that he had envisioned all the ways in which he could watch her die mere hours ago, and to have the tables turned on him so viciously – it was a disgrace, and worst of all was that he had no one but himself to blame.

He ceased his struggles. If he couldn't fight her off outright, maybe a distraction would serve him better.

"Take me then," he told her with as much defiance as he could muster.

A look of victory flashed across her face when she leaned down. She kissed him sweetly, her action a mockery of tenderness, and a pleased noise rumbled in the back of her throat. Her hands released his wrists to tear at the fastenings of his trousers. Laying his erection bare, she wrapped her hand around him and gave him an appreciative squeeze.

Kallum groaned. Taking advantage of her unbalanced position, he called on every last ounce of strength available to him and pushed her off him.

Though his ears were ringing when he scrambled to his feet, he could still hear her laughter as he stumbled to the door. The handle swam before his eyes when he reached for it, and he expected her to pull him back at any moment.

He did not dwell on why she didn't when he almost fell through the door.

"Guards," he called, turning from side to side in the empty corridor.

It took him far too long to remember that the queen's personal guard was missing because _he_ had paid them to patrol somewhere else tonight. Hysterical laughter bubbled up in his chest, but he plodded forward, heedless of his dick hanging out of his trousers, running as fast as he could towards the stairs that would take him straight to the barracks at the eastern wall.

He could hear the steady click, click, clack of her heeled boots behind him, but he did not dare to turn around. Instead, he braced his hand against the wall as he fought the sway in his step and the blurring of his vision.

"Help," he cried, though it came out as nothing but a hoarse croak. "Somebody help me."

He made it to the stairs and stumbled down a few steps until his legs gave out beneath him. He could still feel Cerise behind him, could envision her breathing down his neck. The back stairs were dark, but his vision was untrustworthy enough by now that the sun itself would not have helped him see more clearly.

He crawled down the stairs on all fours, hoping that whatever game Cerise was playing, he would make it out of the castle. If he could just make it to the barracks; he had bought himself favors there – allies, who would help him, who would confine the queen to her chambers, if they didn't kill her outright. He could send one of the guards down to the witch. He would not give up hope.

After what seemed like an eternity, he felt the rough wood of a door against his palms. He fumbled for the doorknob, twisted it, and fell into the sparing grounds set aside for the queen's personal guard.

Rising onto his knees, he called for help again.

To his relief, he could make out several tall shadows moving among the torchlight, which was bright enough to blind him after the darkness of the stairwell.

"Lord Kallum," someone said in an oddly flat tone of voice.

Kallum recognized it. Beram Andasian was the fourth son of a duke, who had served in the royal guard ever since he'd been old enough to take the king's shilling. Twenty years of service had made him a general, who ruled the guard with an iron hand.

"General Andasian," he rasped, "the queen has–" he gasped as a sharp sting pierced his abdomen, "the queen..."

"Yes, General," Cerise's voice drifted to his ears. "Your queen has poisoned her parents' most trusted adviser. Pray tell. What do you intend to do about it?"

The confidence in her voice chilled Kallum's heart. He looked up at Andasian in desperation, but the general wasn't looking at him. His gaze and his carefully blank expression was fixed on the queen.

"What do you command me to do, Your Majesty?" he asked deferentially.

Kallum felt the queen's fingers thread through his hair seconds before she pulled his head back.

He gasped.

She stood above him, every inch a queen. She was breathtaking in her cruelty, and, had he not been dying, seeing her like this, confident and merciless, would have given him the most painful hard-on of his life.

It finally dawned on him that she was a mirror of his own ambition, and it filled him with a profound sense of regret that he hadn't realized it before, that she had proven herself not a challenge and not his match, but that she had eclipsed him in her single-minded viciousness. She was the most arousing vision that he had ever seen.

"I would like you to call your men, General. Let them bear witness to the punishment of a traitor."

Andasian inclined his head. "As you wish, Your Majesty."

Dumbfounded, Kallum was helpless to do anything but watch Andasian turn his back without sparing him a single glance. Cerise stood in front of him, her hand still fisted in his hair as she looked down at him with savage glee.

"How did you expect this to go?" she asked mockingly. "I told you, my pockets are deeper than yours." She leaned down to whisper in his ear. "And I know where he lives, where his children bed down to sleep at night. I have learned a lot from you, Kallum. So much in fact, that I would almost consider it a shame to let you die."

"Nothing to be done about it now," he gasped. His breathing was labored. "What further punishment are they to witness, Your Majesty?"

"You disappoint me, Kallum. Have I not told you to call me by my given name? And did I not also tell you that I like to be prepared?"

He slumped in her hold, his brain too muddled to think. Fire laced his thigh muscles, and sweat beaded every inch of his skin.

"I do not– I do not understand."

He felt the solid ground beneath his back. The cold earth momentarily soothed his feverish skin. Cerise straddled his waist and drew his limb cock back into her hand.

"Do you really believe that I only procured _one_ vial of the antidote?"

He jerked in her grasp, disbelief piercing his mind. It was a trick. It had to be. She was taunting him, dangling hope in front of him, only to snatch it away should he give so much as the slightest indication that he believed her. He knew the method well. He had employed it more than once to tempt valuable information out of desperate minds.

By the gods, she truly was ruthless.

He would not have believed that anything could surprise him anymore, but his body apparently had other ideas, for in spite of the poison coursing through his blood, in spite of the fever burning through his mind like wildfire, he felt his cock stir in her grasp, felt an agonizing shiver of arousal run down his spine. He whimpered and quickly pressed his lips together lest he embarrassed himself further.

Cerise chuckled at his obvious discomfort.

"If you could see the expression on your face right now. So much anger and despair, and so much need. In the end, you are a very simple man, Kallum. But if you are very, _very_ good, and if you please me tonight. I will let you live."

She pushed the skirts of her coronation dress aside and rose to her knees above him.

"Hold his legs and arms," she commanded suddenly, and it wasn't until he heard her issue those orders that he realized that Andasian had returned with a complement of the royal guard in tow.

If he'd been a little more lucid, he would have been mortified. But his brain was too clouded to feel anything but the heat of his own blood rushing to his cock, the aching haze of the poison, and the roaring fire or his lust.

He had no energy to struggle as four men pinned him to the ground by his wrists and ankles. It was unnecessary to restrain him. He could not have gotten up if he'd tried, and he suspected that Cerise gave the order for the sake of the spectacle, rather than for practical reasons.

But even these thoughts faded when she sank down on him.

He felt the heat of her body engulf him, and he bucked up into her without intending to. A pained groan fell from his mouth as pleasure coursed through his body and humiliation through his mind, and he couldn't help but think that of all the ways to die, he could not have been subjected to worse.

Cerise was tight and wet as she clenched down on him. Kallum pressed his lips together and turned his head away, determined that he would not give her the satisfaction of coming undone beneath her.

She took her time to ride him to the completion of her pleasure. Her wanton moans fell into the silence of the night, and he lost himself to the heat of their bodies and the lull of the fever until he could not tell where time ended and began, and whether he was breathing air or fire. It barely registered that the hoarse, feral sounds that rang in his ear came from his own throat. He lost all lucidity and succumbed to the sweet agony of the fire, his body seizing in the guard's hold and his heartbeat thundering in his ears.

Cerise's body suddenly tightened around him, and he felt even more wetness slide around his cock and pool where their bodies were connected. Her shaking breath washed across his cheek.

"You have pleased me well, Kallum. You have earned a reprieve."

Something cool and solid pressed against his lips, and he chocked when a bitter liquid ran down his throat.

"Take him away," Cerise said, and darkness closed around him.

 

* * *

 

When he came back to himself, he was lying in a bed, warm, plush cushions piled around him. Judging by the moisture still clinging to his hair and beard, someone had washed him recently. He was naked, and the first thing he felt, even before he opened his eyes, was a strange weight around his neck.

Reaching up, his fingers came to rest around a metal collar.

His eyes flew open.

Cerise was standing by the window of the small room, her gaze fixed on the sea.

"So you did have another vial of the antidote," he said. His voice was still rough like sandpaper, but it no longer sounded weak.

"Of course. You are far more valuable to me alive than dead," she said levelly.

She did not elaborate on what exactly she meant by that, and he took a moment to study his surroundings. The collar on his neck was connected to a sturdy chain that was anchored to the wall beside the four-poster bed. Making a quick calculation, he reasoned that it was long enough to allow him to move around the room freely, but not venture beyond the door.

Aside from the large bed, the room was sparsely furnished, holding nothing but a wardrobe, a stool, and a writing desk next to the window. A bathing closet was in the far corner, and that luxury, at last, gave him the final clue as to where exactly he was.

"Is this to be my prison, then?" he asked.

Cerise turned around, a wry expression on her face. "For the moment."

"Convenient to have me right next to your own bedroom," he mused while he tried to hide the fact that his heart was racing. In the cold light of day, he couldn't, in all honesty, say, if he wanted to murder her, or whether he just _wanted_ her.

The dark, heated look in her eyes was not helping him to resolve his ambivalence.

"You have played my parents for more than a decade. I think it's only fair that I get to play with you."

"For the same amount of time?"

"That depends on how well you play the game," Cerise said. "I know you will try to undermine me, perhaps even try to kill me. I cannot trust any advice you will give me."

"Then why keep me?" he asked.

"Courtiers and peasants hold very little interest to me. They wear their needs, their desire, and their anger on their sleeves, no matter how much they pretend to be inscrutable." Her fingertips trailed along thigh. "You, on the other hand... Oh, I believe you might be a challenge worthy of my attention."

Kallum couldn't help but mirror her ferocious smile as plans and schemes and opportunities tumbled through his mind.

She really was just like him.

 


End file.
